


The Four Times Murdoc Niccals Wanted To Kiss His Singer

by conboimckinky



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Short Chapters, angsty inner thoughts, i know it's an old troupe, i wrote this all at midnight, i'll put warnings before chapters if i do, i'm not planning on anything triggering, it's mostly to try and get back into writing, like really short, plot twist ??, probably not even 100 words, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 12:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17264237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conboimckinky/pseuds/conboimckinky
Summary: And The One Time His Singer Kissed Him





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Phase One  


"You did it."  
Murdoc looked at him. They were sat on the balcony on the top floor, their legs dangling over the side where he assumed a safety rail once was. Stuart was speaking and smiling around the smouldering cigarette in his mouth and Murdoc could see the stupid gaps in his teeth.  
"What'd you mean?" He replied, slurring slightly, having earlier realised that his body maybe wasn't built for champagne.  
"You did it, Murdoc," the singer repeated, "you started a band. You made a record. You got out of Stoke."  
Murdoc nodded, slowly, and then a smile crept onto his face. He looked at 2D- his singer, his creation, his one-way ticket out of home- and the grin he received when they made eye contact made him feel like a cheeky school boy sharing a secret. He stayed quiet for a moment and 2D turned back around to study the studios graveyard from afar.  
High cheekbones. Sharp jaw. Flat, sweet nose. The cold had pinched his cheeks and left them pink. The cigarette could sit on his tooth gaps. Soft blue hair. Pitch black eyes that sparkled. Smile that reached his eyebrows. Slight eye bags.  
Perfect, Murdoc thought, perfect, pretty, frontman.  
"We did it," Murdoc said, suddenly, not even thinking about it.  
2D turned to him and smiled so brightly that it made up for the lack of light. His eyes sparkled.  
He was so alive. Even after the accidents, Stuart '2D' Pot was so buzzing with life that Murdoc almost couldn't stand it. He had an odd relationship with pills and played with his fingers when he got anxious and stuttered when he got nervous and smiled to himself for no reason and laughed at Noodle's jokes even when they weren't in his language and stood up when Murdoc sped in the jeep with his arms in the air.  
He experienced everything.  
Murdoc looked at him, and wanted to share that. He wanted some of the life. That hope. The sweet naïveté that came with a childhood of full bellies and piano lessons.  
He wanted to kiss him. Badly. Just to get a taste of what it might be like if Murdoc let himself feel anything, anything at all, for more than a millisecond.  
"We did," he repeated, and Murdoc blinked himself out of his daze. When he'd registered the words, 2D had already stood up, chucked his cigarette end off the edge of the balcony, and started walking towards the window to climb back inside.  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Phase Two

Murdoc could hear 2D's heartbreak in his sobs. It was the only thing he could hear over the painful ringing in his ears.  
It was his fault. It was all his fault. The island had crashed and burned and Noodle had gone missing in seconds and it was all his fault.  
Even when he was crying, 2D was alive. Each shattering choked cry that tore from the singers throat was heavy with emotion. Murdoc couldn't cry. He stood, frozen, and watched as fire swallowed up more of the set. Russel had begun digging.  
2D had crumpled, on the floor, sobbing into his own arms, but he stood then. Murdoc's whole body was burning, on the inside. He could feel it. Thick black smoke crawling up his throat and choking him. His eyes stung. He could taste metal. Smoke. He had bitten his tongue so hard it had started to bleed, and he hadn't noticed.  
He hadn't noticed the singer approach. Murdoc couldn't feel anything, except when 2D arms were around his shoulders, pulling his back into his chest and burying his chin in Murdoc's black hair- he felt that.  
He didn't deserve it. He spun around, out of the grip he knew they both desperately needed. 2D still had tears rolling down his cheeks. Murdoc wanted to kiss him then, too. To kiss him and have him taste the smoke and know that it was Murdoc's doing, that he was burning from the inside out and he deserved it, that he was bitter and horrible and a monster. To kiss him and maybe feel the sickening emotions that had caused 2D to kneel over, just to feel something. To kiss him and either cure or kill something inside himself.  
To kiss him, and have him fully understand he didn't deserve the unconditional forgiveness and kindness 2D seemed to offer every single week.  
Murdoc opened his mouth and thick black smoke came pouring out in the form of shouted words that made 2D cry harder and run away, that made Russel come over and shove Murdoc's chest so hard he fell over and could see the drummer chase the singer.  
He still felt like he was choking from the inside when he began digging through the rubble himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning.  
> In true Plastic Beach-era fashion, this chapter is a mess. There is a brief refence to suicidal thoughts, mentions of abuse/child abuse, and vommiting is also described.

Chapter Three : Plastic Beach

-  
-

They were after him.

Who? 

Everyone. Everyone. The boogieman and his pirates and various mobsters and he could have sworn he saw his father in a boat just off the North coast. Every second of the day they're after him. They'll kill him. They'll kill him and he'll be dead and he doesn't want to be.

But he does. He so, so does, and it's long since surpassed the point where Murdoc Niccals pretends to be sober or sane. He is neither of those things.

Here is a list of the things Murdoc Niccals believes and knows himself to be.

A murder. An alcoholic. An abuser. A kidnapper. A liar. A thief. A fraud. A cheat. A manipulator. 

Responsible for her death. For the tin can that pretends to continue her life. For the fact that she was lost and trusted him and wanted nothing more to make music and he let her down.

A repulsive poor shitty snotty good for nothing bastard pathetic faceache cunt.

He climbs- crawls- to roof of the latest Gorillaz HQ and thinking about her makes him want to vomit. He's numb and tingling all over. The sky is big but the ocean surrounding them is bigger. His knuckles turn white against the handrail as he grips it, not acknowledging the fact that he's trembling so violently that the railing shakes.

He swears that they're drowning. Sinking. That each day the bright pink floating garbage pile sinks a little further into the polluted waters. He's going to die there. The beach will sink and he will sink with it and maybe he'll be drunk enough to find it a peaceful death.

He doesn't know. It takes Murdoc a while to realise he's talking to himself, muttering all kinds of convoluted rubbish- enough to make an island out of and spray paint it bright pink.

The joke makes him finally vomit, except it's nothing. It's thick black smoke. The same kind that crawled from the inside and burned his very skeleton when the island crashed. He heaves and heaves and it just keeps tumbling out of his mouth. It tastes like blood and ash, metallic, harsh- it tastes like when his dad smashed his face into the kitchen tiles and knocked half his baby teeth out. Teeth. Teeth falling out. Are his teeth falling out?

He's reminded of something. Someone. 

With a tooth gap that shows when smiles. He balances cigarettes on the exposed gum as a party trick. His hair is blue and soft and his accent is thick except for when he's singing.

His muscles spasm and his throat burns as if he's actually bringing anything up.  
It wouldn't matter if he was. All he'd consumed for the past three months was rum. 

Murdoc doesn't register that the hands on his shoulders, forcing him to turn, are human. He doesn't want to. He doesn't stop his rambling. 

"She's dead she's gone they're after me they'll kill me and they're gonna kill you and she's dead and it's all my fault and I'm just like my father and we're sinking. We're sinking. I'm drowning-"

He doesn't look at whoever it is, either. But they push him forwards, towards the hatch, and then shove him down. The corridor is dark even though it's the middle of the day. He can hear people talking. There were definitely people talking. But he can't see them.

"Why are they here, who are they?" He tries, but the letters mold together like wet sand on his tongue.

"There isn't anyone." 

The accent. Thick. Cockney. He loses it when he sings. He loses the slight stammer when he sings. He changes when he sings, becomes this awesome, irresistible entity. He's not even a person. He's an angel. Maybe that's what he is. Murdoc tries to look, but he's just being shoved forward. 

It feels like he trips. Falls. The impeding feeling of face-on-ground impact. Except whatever he lands on is soft and familiar. Not as familiar as they person about to leave. His voice is hoarse, and every breath just seethes a thick black smog, but he opens his mouth anyway.

"Stu, stay. Will you sing?" 

The figure, Stu, 2D, Stu-Pot, Stuart Pot, Bluebird- he considers the drunken bassist with what can only be described as pity and probably disgust. He shakes his head and turns, closing the door behind him. From the other side, he can hear the mechanical whirring of the machine walking around with his daughters face. 

The rejection stings, but Murdoc wants to kiss Stu then. Because he was always so much stronger. Always. And he'd finally seen Murdoc as the monster he was and was rightfully revolted and now Murdoc didn't have to worry about the feeling in his chest whenever they made eye contact.

He was laughing at first, and then he was choking on tears.


End file.
